


No, Stiles, No

by winchysteria



Series: Sterek Drabbles [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchysteria/pseuds/winchysteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a dumbass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No, Stiles, No

**Author's Note:**

> For tumblr user thewhiskeytango who gave me the idea for Stiles pulling a Stitch while Derek does his laundry.
> 
> winchysteria.tumblr.com

Stiles cackled- and yes, it really could only be described as cackling- as he dug through the laundry basket. “Oh, Derek, my friend- what is  _this?_ Oh, this is  _great!”_

Derek froze with one hand deep into the washing machine. “Stiles.”

 

"Yes."

_"Stiles."_

"Yes, dearest," Stiles replied in falsetto.

Bracing himself, Derek turned slowly towards the dryer to see the man sitting on top of it batting his (obscenely long, but that’s beside the point) eyelashes from under a pair of red silk boxers. He couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh. “Stiles,” he choked out.

Stiles, thank god, stopped batting his eyes, but pursed his (equally obscene) lips and clasped his hands (which we won’t even talk about) together in his lap. “You know, this is embarrassing for me, but it should be downright humiliating for you. Red silk? Really? Who are you, Mario Lopez?”

"Stiles," Derek managed to wheeze out around the smile threatening to split his face in two. "Stiles, I- I hav- I haven’t washed those yet."

Stiles shook his head furiously until the underwear flew off as Derek collapsed against the washing machine, convulsing with laughter.  _"Oh my god,_ Derek, are you kidding me, you just let me  _sit there_ with your dirty underwear on my-  _oh my god,_ it was on my  _head.”_

The last half of the sentence was muffled as Stiles buried his face in his hands, letting one last  _oh god_ slip past.

It was the last Derek heard from him for five days. Over that five days, Derek texted him twenty times, called him three times, and even, as pre-Stiles Derek rolled over in his grave, got a Snapchat and sent him several of those. That was what finally got the reaction, actually, even if it was just a black screen with text on top of it saying  _You know how to snapchat?  
_

 _Scott helped me_ , Derek sent back, but apparently that was all Stiles was willing to say because after the small break for curiosity he returned to radio silence. It took another thirty-six hours and something like seven unopened snapchats for Derek to break. He set up the shot, gritted his teeth, and sent one last picture.

Stiles burst out laughing as he opened Derek’s latest message. There he was, the ol’ Hollister model, with a pair of red silk boxers over his artfully-mussed hair. The text simply read  _Sorry,_ and Stiles felt his chest swell with fondness even as he wiped his eyes and grabbed the keys to the Jeep.

And if Derek was embarrassed about it at all, he didn’t say anything when Stiles rang the doorbell. He just backed him against one of the porch supports and kissed the  _you should be sorry_ right out of his boyfriend’s mouth.


End file.
